


Wrathchild

by mirainawen



Series: The Long Road (Series) [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Altered Mental States, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Language, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, according to the multiverse theory all verse is canon anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27666566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirainawen/pseuds/mirainawen
Summary: Andrea always said he knew how to pick a lost cause. If he could gain his trust, maybe he could get them both out of this. It would be easier said than done. || Purgatory was meant to separate monster from man. The kid's arrival could not bode well.
Relationships: brotp: we're the castoffs
Series: The Long Road (Series) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023001
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	1. Wiseblood

**Author's Note:**

> Think of this as an extended prologue.

***

_**In these pardoned days, I am losing all my senses  
In this timeless daze, I can barely see through ** _

_**-wiseblood, zola jesus-** _

***

First coherent thought doesn’t really seem coherent. A place to hide, a loss of hope. The anger of it. Hope is the inferno in his side. It’s the tearing of flesh and the white incendiary of his mind; angelic brightness and hellfire; eternal cold and timeless existence.

Sam. Safety. Desolate. Empty.

Everything is meaningless here.

Without Sam, it’s harder to stay lucid.

Michael burns hotter than ever. Angelic fury ebbs like a roiling tide, flows like shifting sands. It strips his mind.

Lucifer’s touch freezes every bone, every fibre of his body. He shatters. His mind sears in the afterglow, curls every brittle edge, chars every synapse.

The pressure has him screaming, threatens to tear him apart seam from seam all over again.

Until it’s not.

 _I’m losing it Sam_ is the first coherent thought in centuries. It barely holds its own indistinct shape, but it’s the closest he’s been…

They’re speaking; their voices rend the world seam by seam, a cacophony itself that drowns out word. The world explodes in a slow-motion flashout, vaporizes him instantly.

His bones take longer to reknit as he clings with all he can to that one moment. _I’m losing it Sam_ \- Michael’s light irradiates his exposed insides, searing the fragments of his mind. He tries to hide from it.

Michael fills every crevice, worms through every fibre. Cuts clean and deep.

Warmth slowly pools into his chest, spreads to his limbs. Sets alight every raw nerve-ending. He has no vocal cords; his soul writhes and screams.

 _Puppet_ etches across his damaged psyche, sinking teeth and hook into him. The pressure builds again, frisks his being.

 _I’m losing it Sam_ \- it spins dizzyingly. _Sam. Sam. Sam._

He can’t remember.

Sam left; he sent him away. He won’t go on without him. He can’t.

Michael’s touch abandons abruptly. He’s free-falling. The Cage is quiet for the first time in centuries; the pressure is intense, deafening.

His mind is hemorrhaging.

_Sam_

The Cage closes around their consciousness.

_Sam_

Where one began and the other ended didn’t matter.

_Sam_

She was never meant to accommodate this many beings.

_Sam_

Somehow it was all worse when they lost one.

_Sam_

He’d been a _reason_...

_Sam_

…so much easier…

_Sam_

A cabin in the woods. _Sam._ Grammy’s funeral. _Sam._ Home run. _Sam._ Grad party. _Sam_. Prom. _Sam._ Mom, a smile. _Sam._ Mom, a hug. _Sam._ A glowing ball in his shaking hands. _Sam_. A bad deal. _Sam_. A steady, desperate assurance.

_Sam. Sam. Sam._

Angels blur around him. The Cage warps. The pressure drowns out everything.

He comes out screaming, blood-drenched, scorched; and falls. The screaming echoes endlessly.

Lucifer has promised horrors before. He speaks to demonic figures, places mangled corpses on racks. They writhe with unimaginable agony, and he shies from it. He knows how it feels. Lucifer is methodical, thorough, unyielding.

He’d once believed he might get out.

When _Zachariah_ had been the liar and they’d shown up for him anyway- _Dean hefts him to his feet, yeah well you’re family, it’s a trap-_

He wishes he’d never doubted them; never believed an angel; he hates that naive boy and his faith. Wishes, bitterly, that he could change it all. But believing them hadn’t helped either.

Belief was a dangerous slope straight into a roiling abyss. It was empty promises. It was surrendering his only lifeline. It was Dean shouting, _We’ll get you out!_ , it was Sam’s desperate _I’m coming back_ , it was soul-crushing _hope_ that he could be saved and it _had. to. go. out._

Because Zachariah had been _right_ , and in the end, he’d paid prices that hadn’t been his. He hated the bastard, almost as much as he hated himself.

He crawls until he stands, and he keeps moving because it is the only thing he knows how to do. He can’t make the Cage give him a respite; he can’t escape Michael and Lucifer and their unendingness.

 _You shouldn’t be here_ , it breathes into his lungs, black and impenetrable. It’s a cruel joke. It’s irony with a callous strike, and it tangles about his mind, banging about between his ribs and head. He pushes back.

They can’t _win._ It’s been his only thought since Michael left his mind. It is primal and instinct now.

Defiance thrums with every beat of life. It sirens through his mind, drives the smoke away.

Running was muscle memory when there was no other memory. Lucifer’s daydreams were monstrous, always amused by cruelty with a doting hand; he’s seen it all. Every mangled limb, every fractured skull, every burn to the nth degree. Corpses made to dance with hooks embedded in their bodies like puppets on maniacal strings. Voices long gone, mouths always open—no sound emerging. Perpetually screaming while forever silenced.

He sees it—cannot summon the horror Lucifer reviles him with. There was nothing new they could do that hadn’t already stripped every fibre of his mind.

Michael is always the psych out. The moment of cool breeze through the rocks, fresh air to drive away the burning of hellfire. A shock of relief before the plunge.

He stumbles blindly for it anyway. Those fleeting moments were all that kept his sanity holding on long enough to get battered again.

The Cage often answered back, all three of them trying to adapt. Without Sam, he’d been losing.

_Sam_

He falls, crawls, claws his way to the surface. Past dirty ground and sharp limbs catching at him. He collapses, pressure knocking his consciousness off its axis.

He comes to hacking, blood spewed on dirty, bony hands, and he shivers, shocked and reviled at his own body. He tumbles backward, and feels it, growing, in his belly, sharp and hot up his throat.

The familiar taste of rising hackles, gut-churning despair down his spine. He rises, staggers, falls; rises again, stumbles. The air is too thin, his lungs burn; and he can’t make limb and consciousness meet.

He can feel the monstrosity growing, lumbering closer. He knows this kind, and looks up.

From the grey treeline, the monstrosity detaches itself, all lanky limbs and thin skin draped and stretched over sharp bones.

It’s a little bit of Sam that remains in his nightmares, his very existence. Sam’s despair was always quick to summon monsters, evidence of a life lived; slower to afford a defense. But razor-focus and instinct were sharp. Survival felt like necessity in a place where it couldn’t matter anyway. There was no _dying_ here.

A haze of adrenaline, ferocity, meaninglessness clings to him. He escapes, bleeding from a bite to his shoulder, and runs blindly. The pain is fiery and intense, and his mind, dazed, is somehow too sharp and focused. He cusses Sam out, and the responsive chuckle is almost maniacal.

He passes out. Jolts to his feet. Fights. Can’t breathe. Passes out. And the next, and the next, and the next… The grey world swirls into an endless swirl of shadows and claws and teeth, rot and decay, sulfur and iron. A mindless existence.

His only constant is that he just won’t die.

He collapses for air, and rises because he senses the approach.

“You won’t need it.” The sound is gruff, more gentle than the speech patterns of angelic voices clawing the Cage walls. “You’re outta place, boy. What’re you doin’ here?”

More irony.

He hefts the jawbone he’d scrabbled from the forest floor, and opens his mouth. No sound emerges.

He’ll make them pay.

For the first time in centuries, Adam grins.


	2. Run Boy Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna apologize in advance if I butcher accents. I gave it the old college try, though, and I never even went to college.
> 
> Thanks for the support on the prologue! This kicks off as the official first chapter.

#### *

####  _****Run, boy, run!  
This world is not meant for you  
Run, boy, run!  
They’re trying to catch you… _

_**-run, boy, run, woodkid-** _

*

Benny winced. He’d been tracking the human for days, but this was no experienced hunter. Oh, he smelled like one—smoke and ash and gasoline, sulfur and blood, even viscera—and something vaguely electric—but this was a _kid_.

The heart that’s been hammering incessantly was young—and tired—pushed by pure adrenaline. The eyes he locked on Benny were wide, feral, _ancient_. One wrong move would send him apeshit.

Not exactly the help he’d been hoping for.

Kid’s injured extensively. The scent of his blood was powerful and enticing. It drew his fangs, made his mouth water.

Human blood would strengthen him. His own wounds were fresh and sluggish, slow to heal in Purgatory. He’d survived the ambush, but barely, panting for breath beneath a mound of mangled limbs.

You could not truly die here. The punishment for being a monster was to eternally remain one, vying for hierarchy in a place meant to last forever.

He suppresses the urge to feed.

Kid’s grin was almost deranged. It touched his eyes with an unholy gleam.

“Woah, easy there,” Benny took a step back. Feral animal didn’t quite come close enough.

Tension rocked that frame. Kid swayed, like someone who’d abruptly stopped their momentum. He looked, if possible, confused; but his eyes, they stared right through Benny.

“Easy, boy,” he soothed. He took a cautious step closer. Kid’s shoulders tightened; he flexed his fingers on his makeshift weapon—a jawbone of some great beast. He hated to think what it might have been—there were some monsters here too ancient to name, too terrible to imagine.

“Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

The kid blinked.

“You’re hurt. Let me help.”

More blinking, rapidly. He hadn’t seen this kind of expressionlessness since Gerald had backshot a kid in ‘85.

“Your shoulder,” Benny nodded toward it, the torn jacket and rich stain on it.

Kid’s brow furrowed. Unwavering stare.

Shell-shocked didn’t come close. He clearly didn’t seem to grasp what was going on. Hyper-vigilance gleamed in his eyes, though, and hyper-vigilance was what kept you in the fewest pieces down here.

After a moment, kid turned his head to look at his shoulder. Clearly didn’t bother him. He turned, started walking.

The hell was…

“Ain’t nothin’ that way but more monsters.”

Every monster in the territory had been attracted. Kid’s scent was a siren call; and news spread like wildfire. Any monster that feasted on human flesh or blood would never be satisfied feasting on one another.

“Course,” he amended, “any way you go down here’s eventually gonna lead you to one.”

Kid paused.

“You’re fresh meat when a dog’s starvin’. And they been starvin’.”

He had to be crazy to be considering it. But he’d been tracking the kid for days; he’d be damned if he just let him walk away.

And Andrea always said he knew how to pick a lost cause.

“At least with me you gotta chance at survivin’. And I can get ya outta here.”

He barely heard that rough exhale. He more saw the way it jerked his shoulders. The sound was mangled almost beyond recognition. A scoff maybe?

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged. “But every monster ‘round ‘s gonna want a piece. Somma them ain’t as friendly as me.”

He could sense the hesitation, the confusion, banging about inside the kid. Whatever had its hooks in the kid, was powerful.

How he got here was a mystery. Purgatory was meant to separate monster from man, and his arrival could not bode well.

Benny would be damned if he let the kid out of his sight.

But he knew better than to push. The moment the kid felt threatened he’d go feral. Best to find some way to guide him without being too intrusive.

Kid had a tendency to wander stupefied, or lay sprawled, unconscious. If he could gain his trust, maybe he could get them both out of this.

It would be easier said than done.

*

He followed the boy at a safe distance. The kid had wandered in a relatively large half-circle; he had no doubts it could easily be closed. He just needed to nudge him the right direction.

The opportunity came sooner than expected, and faster than he would’ve liked.

Werewolves were not sly predators. They preferred a fast and direct approach over stealth, and they used their speed and brute force with the element of surprise quite well.

Luckily, Benny was just as fast and just as strong.

The kid was a brawler. He turned to meet the attack head-on, but almost too late. Their combined momentum sent them sprawling. Kid rolled, grappling for his weapon; the were pounced, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of the kid’s forearm. He cried out.

Sam’s knife must’ve had silver in it. It flashed, sinking deep between the ‘wolf’s ribcage, and nicked the heart. Instantly the werewolf collapsed, wasting away faster than most in this grey hellscape, til only leathery skin clung to angular bones. He’d regenerate, but hopefully far enough away it wouldn’t matter. He’d be hellbent on revenge, as all creatures were; once they had the scent, they didn’t lose it: eternity was a long time to nurse blood feuds.

At the moment, Benny had more pressing concerns. He dropped the knife and reached for the kid; kid flinched, grasping his arm as he desperately tried to get away. It was the most lucidity he’d seen out of him, if not really cognizant. He dug his elbow into the dirt, trying to drag himself away.

“Won’t hurt ya,” Benny assured, holding his hands up. “Let me take a look at that.”

He pitched his voice soft and low. Kid’s breathing was hard and rough. Adrenaline coursed, making his blood so much richer. Heart was hammering, pounding in Benny’s skull. Heat and copper reached his nostrils, overwhelming his senses. The hunger awoken on earth was not abated in death; he needed to feed.

It took him too long to realize it, the taste of copper on his tongue and the pressure of fangs in his mouth. He growled, pressing the monster back down into the man.

“You attract enough trouble all on yer own,” he grunted, stiffly rolling his head on his neck. “I ain’t exactly long on friends here either.” He kicked the corpse to make his point. “What do you say we stick together?”

The kid stared up at him. His gaze flickered to the werewolf, back to Benny—wolf, Benny.

“That’s right.” He grumbled. “I saved yer skin.”

Kid looked away, shifting gently to sit up, cradling his arm against his chest. He did not flinch away at Benny’s approach, allowing him to crouch at his side and gently take his arm.

“You’d think you weren’t all there, kid.” He said, shaking his head. “’Bout as shell-shocked as they come. Wanna tell me what gotcha down here?” He slashed at the weathered clothes wasting away on the corpse, tearing a long strip off. He shook the dust from it best he could, and wrapped it about the kid’s arm, tying it off over his jacket.

He reeked of sulfur. It was practically gut-churning this close, clinging to his dirty clothes.

He glanced up at the kid. Kid’s gaze was fastened somewhere on his movements, but his eyes were far away, unfocused.

“Not much of a talker, huh?” He tugged the knot. “Fine by me. But you follow my lead down here, you might survive.” He glanced back up at the kid.

Kid blinked, staring at his arm. Then, slowly, raised his eyes to Benny. He almost doubted he truly saw him. His mind was too far away. Like Gerald before he hung himself.

The kid pushed to his feet, forcing Benny to. It derailed that thought before he could fully appreciate its weight.

“Hey?” he inclined his chin. Kid’s whole body wavered. “Loosen that if it gets ta botherin’ you.”

Kid’s eyes flickered, darting about. He didn’t think he’d seen the kid this animated with nothing to fight and nowhere to run, though it was all relegated to his eyes and not much else. But trauma was funny like that. What did he know.

“Kid?” he pressed. “We need ta keep movin’. Our friend’s prob’ly got friends.”

Kid’s shoulders tightened, then lowered. Just like that, all effusion vanished; his eyes turned blank and dead.

Benny shook his head. “Whatever’s broke in that head’a yours must be nasty.”

Risking it, he reached out, took the kid by the shoulder. Kid didn’t react. Gently, he turned him aside and pushed him the direction they needed to go.

He sure knew how to pick ‘em.

*

He smelled trouble long before he saw it. Monster flesh, blood, sweat, death—it permeated the woods around the portal to earth. He’d pushed the kid into an alcove at the foot of a large sycamore far enough away he had to trust it’d conceal him long enough to investigate.

The corpses he’d left behind had been torn apart. Viscera was scattered as far as a quarter mile from the hill. What remained was decaying at faster rates than they would topside, but regardless the stench was still too potent to be his kills. Some remains were even fresher.

He could hear them before he saw them—growling and snarling, gruff tones—a whole pack of werewolves and their lesser counterparts, weres he didn’t recognize. They were brazen to be out in the open like this. If this was an ambush, it was a bad one. He’d never be blind enough to walk right into it.

The kid, however, might be.

He stifled a growl, eyes falling on the figure standing apart from the milling group. Tall and imposing, with long raven hair, dirty and knotted—he had taken up position midway up the hill, piercing yellow eyes attached to the distance, beyond the west. If Benny had to guess, he’d peg the beast for pack leader. He reeked of arrogance and cruelty; ruthlessness and despotism.

He’d recognize the foul stench anywhere now.

He pressed back into the trees, carefully to watch his step. Enhanced senses were hard to fool, but he doubted they were waiting for him in particular.

“There’s too many for us to take,” he murmured when he returned to the kid. He sank into the depression beside the kid. The kid hadn’t moved.

He didn’t even seem to acknowledge Benny’s presence, staring at the hand he’d propped against his knee.

“We can’t stay here, kid.” He dropped his voice lower. “Bet my hide they’re after you.”

Kid blinked, still blank, entire focus—such that it was—settled on his hand.

Benny reached out and touched his shoulder. Kid blinked several times, slowly raised his head. “We need to put some distance between us. Come on.” He rose to his feet. He had to pull the kid to his own, but once he did, the kid seemed to jolt into action.

He dropped his hand, looked into the woods. Started towards the gate.

“The hell–” Benny lurched after him. Apparently survival instinct did not extend to common sense. “What d’you think you’re doing?”

Kid’s brow furrowed, but his eyes widened—flashing. He shrugged Benny’s hand off.

“You ain’t takin’ ‘em on.” Benny got in front of the kid. “Trust me. We’ll find another way.”

Kid’s jaw clenched. Heightened senses made the world seem so much slower by comparison sometimes. He saw the kid pivot, shift his weight, cock his hand—raising his club—all in a hair’s breadth of a moment. Knew the swing would send them both sprawling.

He ducked it and tackled the kid. They went sprawling in the dirt anyway, but at least this way the kid lost his weapon. They scrambled in the leaves, the kid scrabbling for the jawbone. Benny caught him, dragged him back. The kid threw his elbow, catching him in the stomach. He grunted, losing his hold.

The kid dove for the weapon; Benny dove for him. Kid’s fingers closed around the jawbone the same moment Benny’s arm closed around his neck. He dug his foot into the ground, cranking back on the kid’s neck til the pressure to his windpipe made the kid choke.

“Easy there, boy.” He whispered so his voice wouldn’t carry. “I told ya I’d help you get home and I will. All’s that way is certain death. You gotta trust me or you ain’t gettin’ out of this.”

Kid’s fingers scrabbled at Benny’s arm, choking thickly.

“There’s no comin’ back for you you die here. You get that?”

Kid’s heart was hammering, his desperate grip weakening. He could sense his consciousness skirting blackout.

He released him, let the kid collapse to the forest floor.

“Now,” he said, as the kid hacked and coughed, choking on the dirt and debris every desperate inhale caught. “Follow my lead; you might make it home.”

Kid looked up at him.

“Got it?”

He reached out, hauling the kid to his feet. He waited until he was sure the kid had them.

“We need to get far away from here. They’ll be on our scent soon enough.”

*

Kid was not a talker. In fact, the kid barely seemed lucid, and entirely inarticulate. It took time for them to leave the area surrounding the portal, moving slowly and staying close to the trees, trying to stay upwind. Disguising their scent was going to prove difficult.

Guiding the kid was the hardest part. He was back to wandering mindlessly, though at the very least he could be nudged the right direction. It was getting him to move stealthily and halt when needed that was difficult. Kid had no presence of mind whatsoever. His only instinct was to keep moving.

Then again, he couldn’t even say he himself had a clear end goal past ensuring the kid’s survival. Something was clearly broke in that kid’s head, though.

He finally called a halt in a small hollow on high-ground and forced the kid into it as day dissipated.

Nights fell quickly here. They were only distinguishable by twilight day giving way to stark night. A full moon rose in a suddenly black sky, traveling in a semi-arc across the starless void. She cast sharp contrasts on the world as shadows deepened under her too-clear light, but everywhere she touched was brighter than the day.

Everything here was a farce of the thing above it. The trees were charred, hazardous treelines giving way to thick and dangerous shrubbery and rocky hillside. Every shadow was a void against the low-slung moon, hollowed corpses reaching up toward the sky.

Benny heaved a sigh, staring intently off into the woods. Irony was, whether here or above, he’d be hunted. The only difference being that, in Purgatory, there were forty-million souls after him and the kid; him, for his alliances and information; the kid, for being prime rib to starving dogs.

The only thing he knew for sure was he couldn’t let the kid rot down here. Clearly mental. Ten kinds of trouble. Didn’t belong. He supposed he knew a little bit of what that was like.

There was no real place for him in either world. Too human to be a monster, too monster to be human.

He snorted. Irony was rank in a place like this, tasted stale and too much like old rat blood.

 _Gettin’ weepy over nothin’, Lafitte_ , he chided. _No use feelin’ sorry for yourself just cause life ain’t fair_. His lot was decided ages ago. There was nothing now but eternity alone. For even though Andrea was down here, somewhere, their roads had diverged long ago and he knew where hers lead. He didn’t want to spend eternity feral, vile, and unscrupulous.

It would be bad enough.

Twigs snapping drew his attention. He stiffened, his senses going on high alert. His fangs drew as he sniffed at the air.

It didn’t smell of monster or death, but it did not mean they weren’t out there. You had to be clever to survive here.

He glanced up the hillside. From here, he could not see the kid, hunkered down in a depression in the rocky terrain, covered by shadow. But the noise hadn’t come from that way.

The kid could be the target.

He picked his way carefully the direction the noise had come from, trying to stick to the shadows as much as possible. Winds could shift here at a whim, but the night was still. He could smell damp woods ahead, indicating water of some kind.

Son of a... he caught the creature’s scent, and it wasn’t a creature. It was the kid trying to sneak away.

It irritated him. The kid wasn’t even necessarily trying to be sneaky, so either this was a brazen fuck-you or it was pure mindlessness. Either way, he had his work cut out for him. He already knew he couldn’t just let the kid rot down here, his damned conscience was never gonna let him. The kid seemed to have no intention of making that any easier on him.

Then again, considering how feral the kid was, maybe it just didn’t occur to him that he might need help. Whatever it was, Benny already knew he’d need inordinate amounts of patience.

As he followed the boy, he could see the ford ahead. Source of the water. It was low, an almost inaudible slip over the rocky bottom; but deeper, it may disguise their passage: scent and tracks alike.

Was worth a shot. Maybe the kid was thinking.

He stuck to the shadows beneath the trees as he swung wide of the kid, capable of inhuman speeds. He reached the ford before the kid did, and emerged from the shadows in between the kid and the water.

Kid startled.

That’s when they heard it. Werewolves.

His hackles rose, an involuntary growl emitting low in his throat. The kid turned to face the howls, and Benny shook his head.

“You’re a stubborn one,” he growled. Kid’s eyes cut his way in the darkness. “Told ya, kid, I’m here to help ya, and it’s the last time I say it, too.” He jerked his head toward the responding yelps. “Now you’ve given up our position and I can promise those ‘wolves ain’t comin’ to throw ya a welcome party.”

The kid’s fingers flexed on the jawbone. Impossible to tell what was going on in that kid’s head.

“We gotta go,” he ordered, jerking his head towards the ford. “And we gotta go quick.”

Kid hesitated, glancing off towards the raising alarm. Then back to Benny. He couldn’t read his look, there was not much there to read—but the kid pushed past him, and it was the first act of coherency Benny had seen.

They plowed for the waterbed, splashing into its low current. Rivers here were muted; the waters of Purgatory herself were often leashed and suppressed. They made little noise stirring up its waters. Soon, the bed deepened and widened until the water rose up mid-thigh; and the current steadily grew stronger, til its dangerous passage revealed itself. The waters rushed them along, their footing tricky through a current they could not see, desperately avoiding rocks and still slipping when the route was too treacherous.

Each time, he dragged the kid to his feet and kept him moving. Somehow they both kept their weapons on them.

The pack was upstream, and he suspected it was the same as he had seen at the gate. Beasts like the tyrant he’d seen didn’t lay in wait and could not be shook. They were too possessed by their own hunt to be passive.

They were going to need a better plan than simply outrunning them. Werewolves could match his speed in peak condition; he was not in peak condition, and the kid stood no chance.

He could hear them back the way they’d come, a cacophony of howls that could’ve woken the dead. There were other, quieter, noises, calls he did not recognize. But he knew they all meant the same thing. Their trail had been found, and there was only one direction they could’ve gone.

He grabbed the kid’s arm and pushed him towards shore. “Out! Quick!”

The trees and underbrush were thicker here. The current was growing stronger as the waters rose to their waists. Either there was a drop ahead or they’d offended some water spirit, each equally as likely.

They scrabbled for a handhold. The current swelled, bashing them against the bank.

His grip slipped on the kid, and the kid’s grip slipped on the bank. Benny swore, diving for him. Caught his sleeve, and used his body weight to leverage against the current. He dug fist, elbow, then shoulder into the bank as he tried to haul the kid free.

“Let go,” he growled, and the kid threw him a crazy look.

But he wasn’t talking to the kid.

He tugged again, yanking the kid higher. Kid’s grip scrambled in the underbrush, pulling himself the rest of the way free.

There was no time to catch their breath. He couldn’t hear the pack but he knew they were coming. Dragging the kid to his feet, they stumbled up the bank and he pushed the kid behind a sycamore tree. Its fruits would burn any monster on contact in Purgatory. He hoped that would be deterrent enough, and that the corpse weed on the banks would disguise their scent.

He threw his senses wide. Purgatory was eerily calm; even the current had subsided, and the water almost couldn’t be heard now.

There. They were quiet, but fast; dozens of bodies whipping through the trees, stirring small currents of wind on the opposite bank.

Kid was shivering. He could hear it. Heavy breath panted into the darkness of the sycamore shadow. There was pain in that breath. No doubt the cold of the water had taken its toll.

He pressed a hand to the kid’s mouth. He could feel the startle that raced through that cold body. Kid’s heart was hammering.

“Shh,” he murmured in the kid’s ear, leaning close to muffle the noise. “They’re close. Don’t move.”

Kid’s throat convulsed. Benny held his own breath, listening intently as he peered across the river. He could make out the movement through the trees. First one, then two, three—they darted through the trees, pausing every few feet to sniff the air.

Corpse weed only flowered during the day. But its intense scent lingered well after dark. He’d been sure to crush a few of the bigger bulbs under foot as they climbed the bank, spilling its pollen. Best they could do now was hope it was enough.

Slowly, the figures disappeared. Silence fell. A stillness fell upon the woods.

He would not be fooled.

Movement slithered through the kid’s body, and he tightened his grip before the kid gave them away.

“Not yet,” he whispered, barely speaking, “just the first.”

Kid’s fingers closed around his, colder than his own, and he saw it. He ducked, pulling the kid with him behind the trunk. The kid stiffened, breath hitching as the whites of his eyes caught the moonlight.

He’d pressed back against a fallen fig; it was burning through his clothes. He gritted his teeth, not willing to risk another movement wouldn’t either give away their position or the kid would do something stupid with the same end result. He strained his hearing, listening to the almost-imperceptible steps on the opposite bank.

Damn, but he hated the intelligent ones. The ones that knew how to lull you into a false sense of security. They were clever, spacing themselves out and searching in randomized patterns. As a unified pack, they didn’t need to otherwise communicate. What one knew, soon all would.

They disappeared with the same urgency that paint dried. The heat at the small of his back was becoming unbearable. He breathed deep, exhaled slowly and purposefully, waiting til he felt the weres were out of earshot.

“We’re gonna move,” he said softly in the kid’s ear, shifting away from the heat. “But quietly.” He locked eyes with the kid. “Follow in my footsteps. Don’t stray.”

Slowly, he released the kid and eased out of the underbrush. Once he had his feet, he paused to listen once more.

He could not sense their presence. There was no sound beside that of the hushed river. He had to believe they were far enough downstream that they’d missed them.

The kid was shivering. His system was slowed, exhaustion swimming through every vein. He would crash, and soon; he’d hardly slept in days. Adrenaline runoff was taking its toll on his system.

They needed to put distance between them and the pack before they could rest. And that was so much easier planned than done.

The moon was approaching zenith. That night would be hardest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plan is to try to update fairly regularly, roughly once every 1-2 weeks. If you'd like, feel free to follow the series homebase over on tumblr @ twowinchestersandamilligan. I'm in the process of transferring old prompt fills, etc, from my main account over to it. Should be some fun stuff along the way while I work on the longer stories.


	3. Nerve Damage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ::casually adopts the Monster of the Week format sometimes with this::
> 
> No myth or cryptid is off limits. Some of them I have made up. Some I have borrowed aspects, adapted, played around with from all over the world. Feel free to make suggestions too! I'm having fun trawling through every culture's various tales of monsters and supernatural beings.

*

_**Run, boy, run!  
This race is a prophecy** _

_**-run, boy, run, woodkid-** _

*

They travel nearly half the night. Kid was near dead on his feet, hunched shoulders and head hanging low, feet dragging in the leaves. How he kept moving, Benny wasn’t sure. He felt exhaustion in his own bones, his system weakened and slow to heal after saving Sam.

He’d have to find something to feed on. It would not be as effective as human blood, but the only supply about probably wouldn’t survive a nick, let alone being a blood drip. Not that he would. Kid was distrustful of him enough as it was, and he didn’t want to be the monster as much as he could help it.

The moon was low on the horizon, a jagged set of mountains in the distance. It was nearly impossible to tell direction in Purgatory, as there was no true North. There was no true anything.

Lunar cycles were strange here. The moon, forever full in her starless void, traveled across the sky in a low arc across the horizon. Every night, she rose higher, til she reached her zenith in the middle of the cycle, then entered her waning—by every night the arc dropping closer and closer to the opposite horizon.

A Purgatory eclipse happened twice per cycle; one on each end of the world, when she dipped beneath the horizon for one night, then returned for her ascent. Eclipses weakened every lunar-attached monster.

But she spent two nights at zenith, and zeniths were the worst, for every lunar creature was at their most powerful then.

Their were friends would be the most dangerous in the days ahead. The moon was ascending. Their speed and strength would be on the rise.

Kid was shivering.

Benny sighed. “Sorry I cain’t make a fire. We can’t chance it. We’re lucky we made it this far.”

Kid didn’t answer. He didn’t think he knew how, and even doubted the kid really understood him. His eyes were fixed on the ground, huddled against a grassy knoll to hide, knees drawn to his chest. His hair was still damp, his clothes wet—kid looked like hell warmed over, and only lukewarm at best.

Benny looked skyward. “Cain’t make any promises,” he murmured. “But yer lucky I’m on your side. We’re approaching zenith.”

More shivering.

“You know what happens to weres on a full moon?” he glanced at the kid.

No reaction.

He sighed. “Maybe you do. Maybe you don’t. Hard to say, you’re not much of a talker.”

He kept an ear trained to their surroundings as he shuffled over and hunkered down next to the kid. No point in being caught unawares, but a little rest might not hurt. Kid’s heart beat was finally slowing. He was gonna need body heat, though, and the only friendly around was himself. Kid startled when their shoulders brushed, anxiety racing through his veins.

He pulled away, but otherwise did not react to Benny’s presence. Instead, kid’s expression was cast into sharp angles and shadows in the light of the moon. His head was slightly tilted, letting the light paint him unevenly.

He’d shifted to place his hand on his knee, eyes fixed upon it. He moved his fingers stiffly.

“Kid?” Benny nudged his shoulder.

If he didn’t know better, he’d say that minuscule expression was confusion.

Benny watched as the kid raised his other hand, flexed his fingers, head following the movement. His eyes flickered between one hand and the other, fingers flexing.

Benny peered closer and spat a curse. “I told you to loosen it if it was too tight.” He grabbed the kid’s arm.

Again, the kid barely seemed to react. He watched Benny, but if he was thinking or feeling a thing, it was not very coherent.

Kid’s fingers were ice cold and had that lack of definition from loss of blood flow. He tugged the knot loose, and the kid stiffened. He could smell the restored blood flow.

“Guess I shouldn’t wonder how ya got down here. Huh. Don’t even have the sense to take care of your goddamn self. Next ya won’t sleep without bein’ told?”

The kid’s brow furrowed. He blinked several times. Then, he tugged his arm free and turned aside in a clear display of disgruntlement.

“Now you decide to understand me.” Benny shook his head. “Sulk. I ain’t your daddy.”

He needed to rest. He could feel his wounds dragging his system through a metaphorical mud. He felt heavy. Settling back against the rock, but close enough he could feel the kid’s low body heat, he closed his eyes, let his mind slow. His senses were still tuned wide, and the first sign of trouble he’d be alert, but for now, he’d rest. What he could get would be over far too soon, and it was.

Kid’s head was just nodding toward his chest when the contrasts of night gave way to a grey day. Benny hefted himself to his feet, and the kid, stirred, lifted his head to look at him.

“We best keep movin’.”

Kid had fortitude. Cold, wet, hurt—and human. Still, he rose. Humans were miraculously hardy and horrendously delicate all at the same time.

“How’s the arm?”

The kid hesitated. His gaze wandered to the gash, so he seemed to understand that much.

“Take that as alright. Come on.” He tugged the kid by the other arm, urging him to move. Kid shied from his touch, like a man in pain.

He released him.

Real loose cannon, this one. He had his work cut out for him. “We have to keep movin’, boy. They got your scent.”

Kid stumbled forward, slow to regain his coordination. He could hear sluggish in every vein and muscle.

They scramble down a hillock and Benny glanced at the kid. His breathing was heavy and stilted, fingers cold on his weapon. Dirt and debris clung to his clothes and hair. He was too pale; sunken eyes bloodshot, and deep-set in red. That damned mind wasn’t gonna give him any rest.

He knew shell-shock when he saw it in a beaten soul.

He had to give the kid credit, though. Something told him the kid would just keep moving until he literally collapsed and died here.

He would need to eat. Food was hard to come by, at least food that was tolerable for humans. Palatable was _off_ the table, and Benny still had to chuckle at Dean’s disgust in those early days.

He doubted the kid would complain. He’d have to open his mouth and use his words. And survival was the only instinct the kid seemed to have.

Anything he could find would require a fire to cook it, though. Even most the plant-life would be hard on a struggling human physiology. Purgatory was designed to torment its residents, not sustain life in humans who were not meant to be here—but it did have to be survivable for one to reach the gate.

Building a fire would raise their risk of being detected.

Too bad he hadn’t thought to have the kid grab some figs. He was gonna have to start thinking like a human if he wanted to get this one out of here. Dean had done all his own thinking.

Eternity was a long time to not keep busy, though.

“Gentlemen.”

A shadow detached itself from the trees ahead. Her bare feet and corset over tattered shift put her once-life some centuries prior to their present, and she looked it. Her dark hair is dirty and matted, borderline emaciated features pale against the dark of the forest. She smiled, and it was almost too pretty for her impoverished state.

Gently, she swung a coin bag from a cord attached at her waist. It clinked rhythmically. He could sense the energy gathered around it, like ripples in a quiet pond.

“We don’t want trouble.” He bit out softly.

“Of course not.” Her faint accent reminded him of the Brits he used to encounter on the high seas. “Neither did I.” The bag swung in a complete circle.

“That ain’t our fault.”

“Oh, is it not?” she paused. The bag swayed. “Well,” she tilted her head, “maybe only his.” She winked.

He stepped in front of the kid. “Find another toy.”

Her brow furrowed. “Oh, no. I am wanting that one.”

“No.”

Fury whipped lightning fast across her face, before her features smoothed into a smile. Her lip split. It did not bleed. “He is my right.”

The hell that... He bared his fangs, a low growl emitting. “Where I come from, we don’t own people anymore.”

She laughed. The sound was light. The bag began to swing again. Somehow her laugh was harmonized in it. “Yet, you are possessive.”

“Well.” He smiled dryly. “Got to him first.”

“It is simple, young one. He smells like a man I once knew. A man for whom I owe a specific debt, and a vendetta has no term limit.” She began to circle them. The bag did not falter.

Vendettas were largely all that fueled the ubiquitous rage here. If it couldn’t be aimed at the target (usually the hunter who got them), it was turned on the rest of Purgatory.

“It ain’t anyone he knows. You’re...two, three hundred years outta touch? He’s not exactly part of what was done.”

Her upper lip snarled, irritation hissing between her teeth. “Yet a woman never forgets. His blood reeks of the witchfinders.”

He shifted, staring at the bag. That was definitely a magical energy he felt coming off it. “Can’t help you with that.”

“Vampire, is it?” She stopped. The bag hung plumb. Her face was brightened with an obscene innocence. It set his hackles rising. She wrinkled her nose. “His kind is the reason you are here. Was it not a hunter who tracked you down like an animal and took your life without hesitation?”

“We all die.” He shrugged.

“You more than others.”

He flicked his lip against his fangs.

“I can smell it on you. You’ve been to the gate, and through.” Her expression began to turn. The bag made a sharp arc as she spoke. “Tell me, bloodsucker. Was it a hunter again, or your own kind for turning your back on them?”

_Shit_ -

The thought did not have time to fully form before her true nature emerged. Snapped in a gust of wind, her skirts burst into indistinct cloud behind her as she grew to stand well over six feet, both graceful and terrifying in her Otherness. She was all skin over sinew and bone, arms lengthening to taper seamlessly into long, needle-like nails; they hung clear to her knees. Translucent skin gave her a wraithlike appearance against her midnight hair, now caught up in the air, forming a halo about her. Her clothes had become a haze and in it something _else_ , and yet she was too distinct, and in that vividness, malevolent.

She was a Famulus, the original witches; magical creatures who first taught humans the dark arts for their own ends, until humans bound them to servitude— _familiars_ , spirit guides of accomplished witches.

A true Famulus could take on whatever form or shape it desired for its truest self. Judging by the chameleon collection displayed in hers, she was ancient and not likely to have ever been bound.

This was going to hurt.

The air drove out of his lungs as he was shoved to the ground. He coughed, spitting bark and debris as it cut into his face, and looked up to see the kid throw himself at her. The sharp edge of his makeshift blade sank through her ivory chest with foolish prejudice, and easier than Benny would have expected.

She roared, the sound snapped back through the woods like that of a mountain lion. The _else_ over her shoulders could only vaguely be described as wings and the snakelike fineness of a forked tail. Both flared at the attack, sparking sharply into existence in her fury and, he hoped, pain.

She swept an arm and sent the kid flying; he hit a tree and crumpled to the ground. And stalking forward, impossibly silent for something so large and so _there_ , and Benny surged to his feet. She flicked her wrist, sent him flying; he hit the ground and rolled.

He looked up to see her raise a hand, and the kid, kicking and struggling, came off the forest floor as though by some invisible noose. He was choking. Benny could just see the tendril of energy that had magicked through the air from her open hand and the kid’s sunken chest.

“By the pricking, I thee—“ she hissed, reaching a needle-like nail out toward the kid’s temple.

Benny rolled to his feet, shouting. He recognized ancient spellwork, if not the spellwork itself, when he heard it. She was a pinprick away from drawing his blood. He was going to be too late.

Inexplicably, she froze and stiffened. Something hissed deep within the haze of her form, a warning rattle.

Kid tried to jerk free of her hold, spitting mad, but it was useless. All that defiance and fire burning in his red eyes, and it would make no difference. His blood pressure was dropping. His thrashing was weakening.

She tilted her head, studying him and his feral eyes. Her needle withdrew. She stared at him.

And dropped him.

She turned, smiled...and vanished.

Benny rocked in the sudden pressure change her absence ricocheted. The heavy atmosphere she’d brought made them feel suddenly light by comparison as it left their shoulders. And though Purgatory was never _right_ in the sense of the word, it was righted in a sense.

Kid was sucking in air like a dying man, hacking a lung on the forest floor. He rushed to his side and hauled the kid to his feet, looking around the woods for signs of trouble.

“You goddamned idiot,” he snapped, throwing the kid’s arm over his shoulder. “You _die_ here, that’s it—you know that, right?” He growled, dragging the kid through the woods.

Whatever her reason for leaving them, he didn’t trust it. Purgatory had trouble rotting out its core like dead tissue.

And if it wasn’t her, it was something else. It wasn’t paranoid if they really were after you. And right now, the woods reeked of magic and danger.

It was gonna be a long day.

*

“Got a damned death wish—that how you got down here?” He tossed another log on the fire and turned the makeshift spit. He didn’t expect an answer. Kid wasn’t talking. But it didn’t stop him from railroading the kid.

Kid just looked at him. He’d taken a seat on a rock and had watched Benny coax the small fire into existence and skin and prepare the boobrie he’d caught and killed a few miles back. In its serpent form, it was not much more than gristle and fat, but it was edible when put over an open flame, and they were easier to put down than most other monsters. The kid needed to maintain his strength, and mimicking earthly needs was a good place to start.

Adrenaline was enough to sustain anyone here, where the nightmare was never-ending. There was always starvation and dehydration, but never death by it. There was no need to eat.

And yet, Dean was stronger and sharper every time he did. It was at least an edge, if a dull one, on an otherwise blunt weapon.

Kid’d get killed by anything stronger or smarter than him if he didn’t hone his instincts.

“You wanna be reckless, fine. Just don’t take me down with you.”

It wasn’t fair. The kid hadn’t asked for his help. Wasn’t even capable of looking for any. He was the one who had chosen to take on this whole thing. What it was, he couldn’t say, and what he was gonna do—even less of a sure thing. But his nature was to have some goal, some purpose, and a lost cause of a broken boy was as typical as they came for him.

It was just his nature to take on hazards and hopeless cases.

He wasn’t even necessarily angry at the kid. Kid just happened to be a target who didn’t shoot back. He didn’t know why; kid went feral around any other monster. By comparison, he was practically lifeless round Benny.

That feral tendency reminded him of someone. Easier not to think on it. He’d made the right decision. Dying to save Sam was the right choice. Better one more man than one more monster.

“Suppose it ain’t your fault.” All the wind rushed out of his sails. He sat back, hunched shoulders as he exhaled. “Could leave ya.” He shrugged, glanced at the kid. “Guess you sorta remind me a’someone. Course, he had a lot more sense than you. Tendency to run his mouth off too. Never shut up about that little brother’a his. Sam this, Sam that.” He snorted.

Kid blinked.

He sighed. “Tell me I ain’t wastin’ my time here.”

Kid looked away.

“Course not.” He snorted again. “Just gone soft.”

The kid sighed, surprising him. He slid off the rock and nestled back against it. He huddled in on himself and ignored Benny.

Dean had never been like this. He’d rolled with every punch and came out swinging. But he’d been a hunter all his life.

This kid, whatever his past, had the eyes of a man who’d seen too much and hadn’t yet reconciled it. Didn’t channel it all directly into unadulterated violence, pure and clean. Kid was violent, but only as a means of survival. The thrill of the hunt? Kid didn’t reek with the stench of it, not like every hunter he’d ever run into.

He reminded him of the sailors who’d miraculously survived adrift at sea, not much of a man afterward; their minds gone from the salt and the sun, and they merely survived to never really live again.

Those men limped by on instinct and hunger alone, and the kid would do the same. Purgatory demanded it. It served hunger and desperation in spades. Every creature fed on it. How well the kid kept on and for how long, well...that was something else.

He sucked air against his teeth, irritated with concerns and the troubles ahead.

“Here,” he grunted, tossing the seared hide across the fire at the kid. It hit his arm before falling into the grass. The kid raised his head, looking confused as his gaze flickered between it and Benny. “It won’t bite ya.” He inclined his chin as he turned his attention back to the fire. “Ain’t got utensils, so don’t you worry about mindin’ yer manners.”

He paused at the eerie howl that echoed through the woods. It was distant, but definitely a were. Something fluttered sharply through the trees.

He rose to his feet, kicking at the fire to spread it out and let it die down.

“Eat up.” He reached for the knife Sam left. “You’re gonna need the strength.” He peered out into the woods as he crept carefully away from the dying light. Naturally there was no argument from the kid.

There were monsters here so ancient, they’d fallen into myth above, hunted to extinction. Their names were all but lost, barely remembered in oral myths of peoples whose entire histories were kept alive in the same manner. Few monsters here could name them; should you be unlucky enough to find someone with the knowledge, odds were you would lose that fight.

The creatures in the woods were often invisible and fast, flitting and creeping about its shadowed expanses; a rustle here, a breath there, most too ancient to be bothered unless you bothered them. The fear of what couldn’t be seen was often enough to dissuade. And for those who sought prey, they often found what they were looking for—in themselves.

He knew better than to go hunting for them. But his senses were on alert, and he felt a little sharper after draining the boobrie before he cooked it for the kid. Wasn’t as powerful as human blood, but it was better than nothing. He was better off than the kid, at least.

He kept one ear trained for the kid trying to sneak off, but given the kid’s condition, he doubted the boy was getting anywhere unless he had to. The moment he sensed danger, he’d be off.

The woods were alive with quiet warnings, soft threats, and tension. The air both vibrated and was deadened by it, the world balanced on a razor’s edge of Purgatory’s restrained writhing fury.

After an hour or so, he backtracked to check on the kid. Fire was cold out, but the boy hadn’t even moved, and he hadn’t touched the food. It still lay in the grass where it’d fallen, kid’s knees brought up to his chest and his chin resting on them. How in the world the kid hadn’t grown uncomfortable was a mystery, but somehow he doubted he was even aware of it. His eyes were dry and bloodshot.

He swore softly, and the kid startled, lifting his head as he stalked toward him. He squatted down and held the meat out once more. “You need to eat.” He ordered.

The kid looked at it, then back at him.

“ _Eat_.” He repeated at it, holding it up to his mouth before back out to the kid.

Kid glanced at the gristle again; back to Benny. Slowly, his eyes circled around the woods, then to him once more, hesitant and blank.

He pushed it at him again.

Hesitantly, the kid reached out. If he didn’t know better, he’d think that was confusion in his eyes. He took it, but he just fucking held it.

“For chrissa-”

Kid flinched.

He took a breath, grabbing patience by his fingernails. He grabbed the kid’s wrist, forced his hand to his mouth.

“Take. A bite.”

Kid was pulling his head away, displaying for the first time, if possible, a muted distrust. He stared at him, expression detached and void.

Then, listlessly, he opened his hand, dropped the serpent.

“Oh, for—” Benny picked it up. “I ain’t tryin’ to poison you.” He bit off a nibble of the gristle to demonstrate, then held it out to the kid.

Blinking, the kid took it and raised it to his mouth, staring at Benny, uncertain as to why. Then finally, god-blamed stars be praised, he took a bite. Something ticked in the corner of his mouth, only outward appearance he was at all affected by it. He glanced between Benny and it.

“That’s right. Go on.” He stood.

The kid scrambled to his feet as well.

“No, no.” He waved the kid down, but had to relent when he saw the move meant nothing to him. He sighed. “Fine. Guess we’re movin’ out. But eat.” He gestured firmly.

He’d find them another spot in a couple hours and make the kid rest then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to chat with me about the story / series over on tumblr @ twowinchestersandamilligan
> 
> Next update will be in 1-2 weeks, depending on how writing is going.


	4. The Shape of Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teeth sank through soft skin. His hunger took over—he bit harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you must know, I am enjoying trawling the depths of various culture's myths, cryptids, and monstrosities. I enjoy putting my own spin on them. Feel free to share your favorite cryptids and such. Who knows, one might make an appearance! (Doesn't have to be limited to creatures, though - plantlife too is pretty rad!)

_**I’m going down  
** _ __**to the devil’s waters  
** _**I’m gonna drown  
** _ __**in that troubled water**

_**-troubled waters, cat power-** _

*

The trouble with Purgatory, other than everything, was that it was vast. He could navigate better than most, but it was too easy to wander forever and still not get where you were going. And for monsters, dying here meant waking up elsewhere. Few souls traveled for any specific destination.

Benny had been one of those few.

Kid was less likely to be lost when with him, but no more guaranteed to get anywhere quick. He didn’t even know where to take him, except to keep on the move until he figured something out.

As long as there was a werepack between them and the gate, there was no getting the kid out of Purgatory, at least not on his own. He was having a hell of a time keeping the kid from doing stupid things like rushing off to meet every threat head-on all on its own, let alone more.

Still, at least for now, it gave him a false sense of camaraderie and purpose. However long it lasted was any man’s gamble.

It was the middle of day three. Eating had strengthened the kid’s step, and the more monsters they encountered seemed to build the kid’s trust in him, such as it could possibly be. But the going was rough.

“Hope you know how to climb, kid.” Benny spoke to fill the silence more than anything. “Climbfall ahead’s kinda treacherous. But what’s below—”

He wasn’t expecting a reply, and certainly not a nonverbal one. When the kid grabbed his arm, it startled him. He looked at the kid, and the kid’s gaze darted off into the woods.

He followed suit.

_There_ . He heard it too. “Good ear,” he murmured. He held a hand out as he took a cautious step that direction, then held a finger to his mouth. “Wait here,” he ordered.

The skittering in the underbrush was subtle; whatever moved out there was stealthy or small, maybe both.

He withdrew Sam’s knife as he stalked through the woods. The rustling seemed to move from one bush to the other, leading him deeper into the woods. It was almost too late by the time he realized it.

The damned thing was leading him off course, and he’d fallen for it.

He whirled back the way he came, startling the sprite from the bush. She let out a warning trill as she zinged off into the upper branches. A fine mist trailed her, a clear sign of her symbiosis, and he let out a curse. This hadn’t been random mischief.

He took off running back the way he came, calling for the kid. He could not expect a response, but when he jumped the last few logs and landed back on their trail, the kid was gone.

_Shit, shit, shit—_

The muted rush of the waterfall ahead was closer than he’d realized; he could smell its spray upon the air, the scent of moss and brook and rock.

“Kid! Kid, don’t!”

He tore through the woods at a breakneck pace, but burst onto the rocky shoreline to glimpse the kid a good fifty-sixty yards ahead, at the riverside.

“Kid! Stop!” he bellowed.

She was rising from the waters, already having enraptured the boy. Slowly, her body took form, water cascading from its rippling surface. Roke from the rapids rose with her, as though it was a conscious backdrop to her wilful malice.

An undine, and a very powerful one.

She reached a hand, trickling and enticing, out to the kid.

He reached back.

He would be too late.

“Kid!”

The waters rose, soothing muted babble boiling to ominous levels. From the river to his right, a great wave arose.

Their hands touched. Her river form solidified, the waters slipping from her unclothed and too-perfect form as she stepped out.

“Don’t!”

The wave gathered to a peak, pulling the water from the shoreline, before it lashed forward, flooding the bank and sweeping his footing. The world went sideways, with a sharp crack across his forehead. Heat filled his mind and water filled his lungs, burning—and took him back to saltwater wrecks tangled on New England shorelines.

The year was 1892. The shipwreck that took his mortal life. His mother, the reckless voodoo woman of the northend, had warned him of the things that resided in the forests and the waters and the Bayou. God rest her poor soul, she’d been convinced the sea would take him. Maybe her wards were the only reason he hadn’t been drawn by the siren calls what bewitched the rest of his crew. But her prayers couldn’t save him from the hands of his crew and the wreck they took him to, and they doomed him to an eternity among the damned.

On those shores, the Old Man had found him.

It was so much easier to succumb to nature. He had woken, after all; the monster had brought him a life as a damned good sailor, a better husband, and briefly a father. Neither this world nor the next, neither the life before nor the life he’d had but days ago, could measure up to what he’d had in the life the Old Man’d given him. He’d had it. He’d had it on borrowed time and spilt blood, and it’d been good. He’d taken lives, he’d saved them—some the wrong kind, and some good. He’d done many things he wasn’t proud of now, by any means, but there had been good.

And maybe God saw fit to take it away, for the blood on his hands and the monster in his veins. There would be no place for a man like him.

He struggled to rise, and the water bashed his skull open. Blood trickled into his eyes.

Fueled by adrenaline and pain, instinct took over, the animal emerged. Somewhere in the distant past, he curled his hands in the lapel of the Old Man’s coat and yanked him off his feet.

Blood, human, fresh, _pulsing_. Teeth sank through soft skin. His hunger took over—he bit harder. Hot and salty—it flooded his mouth, incredibly rich, instantly revitalizing.

He’d drained his first victim completely.

He remembered every scream. They still reverberated in his mind like a bad horror film, and he’d barely seen a one.

The hit was stronger than he expected. It spun the world awash, even as the blood flooded his veins with a surge of renewed strength. He could feel the raw flesh of his wounds knitting, skin and muscle reforming.

The first thing he became truly aware of was the copper in his mouth, the receded fatigue, and that he himself was no longer bleeding.

The next thing he realized was the eerie silence. The undine waters had retreated, the river falling back to its hush. He could not say how long he had lain there, but it couldn’t have been too long. The air was still heavy with the undine’s lingering presence.

“Kid?” He hadn’t always been alone.

He rolled onto his side, looking for the kid. There he was, face down in the rocks and mud, unconscious. He called for the kid, scrambling over to his side. Kid was limp and pale, pulse thready and nearly inaudible.

The wound on the side of his neck said it all. He’d nicked the jugular.

“What foil have you wrought?” The voice was warbley, distorted, as if underwater.

He glanced back to see the undine stepping once more from the river. Her smooth features were muddied with fury, and her form was rippling with the force of her nature.

“I marked him mine, blodsuger.” Her waters tumbled about her like robes, trailing behind her like a long train, not at all as he had last seen her.

 _Shit_.

He picked up the kid’s arm. Where his wound had been, the watermark was dim but there, about three inches long and rippling just beneath the epidermis. No other sign remained of the ‘wolf bite.

Her presence towered at his shoulder, turning the air cool and damp. A low growl emitted from his throat, and her appearance burbled, amused, as though it were a chuckle.

“You are without means to harm me, blodsuger. Certainly not now. He will release me when you return him to the mid-dobe.”

“Who says I’m doin’ that.”

The translucent lines of her mouth turned in amusement. “He is more than feed to you. Perhaps your own means to an end—a path to escape yourself?” She spoke calmly, her voice like a brook over smooth stones, as she reached out. She ran a watery hand over the kid’s head, trailing water droplets through his hair.

They trickled over the bite. “You travel the wrong direction, blodsuger.” Her waters rippled against the kid’s skin, a deep glowing luminescence where water and blood met. It entered his bloodstream, racing through his veins toward his heart.

The kid jerked, spitting clear, clean water.

“Easy! Easy!” Benny warned, gently restraining the kid.

Her water bubbled as she rose to height. “Do not harm him again, blodsuger.” Slowly, she began to retreat, her form slipping back into the river the same way water returned to water when surface tension broke. “See that he finds his way.”

He had more concerns than her threats, and more to worry about than her orders. Namely, the kid gasping for air like a dying man, hacking wetly and panting weakly.

“Easy there, it’ll pass, kid.”

At his voice, the kid looked at him; his eyes widened and he lunged away from Benny. He struggled to rise, slipping on water-logged terrain to gain his feet. Still coughing up water wasn’t exactly helping.

Benny stood, raising his hands. “Easy, kid. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

Kid’s chest was heaving, heart racing. There was uncertainty pounding alarm bells in the kid’s head, his eyes flickering but something familiar and feral ticked along the boy’s jaw.

“I didn’t mean to bite ya.” He assured, taking a careful step after the boy.

The kid stumbled back a step, and his eyes landed on the ground. Benny followed them, landing on the discarded weapon—the jawbone he’d been clutching since he’d arrived in Purgatory.

He tilted his head as he shot the boy a disappointed look of warning. “Don’t,” he said softly. He knew the kid would try.

They dove for the weapon together. He had no intentions of using it or the knife on the kid, but he wasn’t too keen on losing his own head just yet either.

He couldn’t beat him to it, though; kid was too close. His fingers curled around the same moment Benny slammed into his side, sending them both sprawling. They scrabbled in the mud, trying to grasp the weapon first; or pin the other, in Benny’s case.

Kid bucked him off, dove for the weapon, and he barely managed to grab the kid in the nick of time, hauling him back. The kid thrashed and they both fell. He kept his grip when they landed, the kid on top, and somehow managed to roll them both, and pinned the kid on his stomach. He pulled the knife from his belt in the same instant, pressing its edge to the boy’s jawline.

He growled. “ _Stop_.”

With his face pressed into the mud, only one feral eye could be seen, wild with fury. Kid grunted, wincing, as he dug his palms into the ground and tried to push back against Benny’s weight. His arms went limp against the shore when he couldn’t, growling.

“Easy, kid. I ain’t gonna hurt ya, and I’ll let ya up when you’re calm enough, ya hear me?”

Kid struggled, growling.

He shifted his weight and his grip. “No,” he grunted, pressing the knife harder. One wrong move and it’d draw blood. He didn’t want to. “Stop. Stop. I’ll take this away, 'kay?” He lightened the pressure til the blade was just off the kid’s skin. “Okay? Didn’t mean ta bite ya, and I don’t want to hurt you. I won’t. I’ll let you go. See?”

The kid had stopped struggling. He caught his eye as he released the boy, holding his hands up and out of the way. Knife up in plain sight to show he had no intention of using it. Slowly, he let the kid up.

He should have seen it coming.

He’d shifted free of the kid, who was almost to his knees when he did it. The elbow made ruthless contact with his windpipe, and he stumbled back, collapsing. He’d dropped the knife as his hands flew to his crushed throat, gasping breathlessly.

Kid scrambled for it and pinned him, pressing the blade to his jugular. Kid’s eyes were narrowed, sharp, and dangerous—lowering his chin, he pressed the knife harder under Benny’s, drawing a thin line of blood.

“ _Don’t—_ ” he could barely gasp out, grasping the kid’s jacket. Time seemed to slow, his fingers closing around the fabric, cold zipper pressing into his skin—if he killed him, all bets were off—kid smirked.

Benny blinked.

He gasped as the boy released him. He rose to his feet, dropping the knife on the rocks beside Benny. He stared down at him, smirking.

Benny dropped his head back to the rocks, relieved.

“I guess...” he choked out, “...I had that comin’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Wikipedia page that inspired this week's monster actually talks about Undines as more of an overarching species with more subspecies as the actual cryptid (mermaids, being one such example). They are soulless creatures and can only achieve mortality by taking a man's. 
> 
> Whatever shall I DO with that knowledge...
> 
> HMU over on tumblr @ twowinchestersandamilligan if you'd like


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